The bottlemen live in your neighborhood. Their faces set always to the east. They want nothing more than to remain buried in the sands of time. The poison of their thoughts perfume the world with a scent of apathy. The fragile world, awaiting a casket of wisdom, lost to men and animals alike, wonders if the powers will succumb to this vileness.
The ancient earth stirs, making a tumult of fiery ejaculations, crushing the stony foundations of destiny. The bottlemen fear the stony unknown and the rocky face of the future. They would hide, but they will not be moved for fear grips their shiny surfaces. They will only melt under the heat of change.
I think that something was in my eye. I hate it when I have some debris blown into the visual orifice. It has an eye in it, right. Every orifice has an “I” in it. Even “it.” No need to contemplate why we have no desire to have something in our eye. Even the blind have and “I” which means they too don’t like junk in that peep hole, even if it is out of order. Fortunately, they can see, better than some.
I’ve gotten little more to do than point my eye here:
The eyes have it, or do the fingers?
I’m sitting around listening to YouTube videos when the Fleur East content comes into my ears. I’m really not impressed with her voice, but she is entertaining. So I’m fiddling around and make her a picture. The X-factor sometimes seems like a big karoke machine on TV.
Plus I really don’t want to subscribe, and I really would pay not to hear the gossip.
This piece looks different in photoshop and illustrator. The yellow and green is more fluorescent — or should I say Fleurescent. Here was one of her performances.
Here is another children’s illustration for the current book I’ve been developing. This one has some features forecasting to better things to come, but this trash collector is named “Stinky” at this point. Sitting around not developing, one can just attract garbage. Garbage in, garage out. So if we don’t more, and we stop growing we stink.
I like Raffi. Of course, this image is based on a deer and a pheasant, but it was fun putting this together. I muted down the colors of the background to make her stand out. At this point in the story you really don’t know what will become of Raffi. But something miraculous has to happen for the story to progress. Don’t we all wish we could see into our souls and see what is happening there? Especially as we change.
Who is Elle? Glad you asked?
This question is what the new story is all about. I can’t reveal who Elle is, other than what meets your eye. The fact is that creation isn’t quite done with her. She is nothing like she ends up in the story, and forever more she will go by another name. The fact is that the gist of my work relates the how of what becomes of her, and her friend, Raffi.
I find myself surrounded by plastic people. Maybe is has to do with the fact that everything is wrapped in plastic. Maybe I’m a plastic person, too.
Maybe if we all leave the planet this may change. The microorganisms will find a way to eat all this plastic junk.
Maybe the governments giant plastic credit bill will be reduced to mounds of nutrients inhabitable by at least cockroaches and bacteria.
All those things we longed for, the yacht, the house overlooking the ocean, the carpets, the lounge chairs will all be filled with plastic chomping bugs.
And maybe they will take out their trash in paper bags.
If will all got in that rocket, or at least a few of our strands of dna, could leave earth and land on some distant life-sustaining gem of a world, where we could copulate and make anew a world of people without masks and a desire for falsehood.